


Bats, Coins, and Cards

by SinkingLikeASunset



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Like this is going to be ridiculous, M/M, Protective Batman, Protective Harvey, protective Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 15:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20659715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinkingLikeASunset/pseuds/SinkingLikeASunset
Summary: Bruce is Batman, and unfortunately, Batman also has to be Bruce Wayne. In an unforgiving city like Gotham, It's not just what you know, it's who you know, and who's on your side.





	Bats, Coins, and Cards

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of the characters.
> 
> Hi, this is my first time writing for this fandom and I do have other fics I need to be working on, but this idea just would not leave me. This will be super indulgent and ridiculous and I hope you guys like it.

Bruce was utterly exhausted, at his wits end, and not even patrolling could calm him as it usually did. When he was Batman, he wasn’t forced to deal with the Gotham elite outside of saving them; they were rude, boorish, and so unbelievably self-absorbed it was almost impressive how they managed to be so nonchalant in a city such as Gotham. As Bruce Wayne, he was expected to attend every debut, gala, campaign, and whatever other social gathering was deemed necessary. Alfred always insisted he make an appearance for appearance sake if nothing else. He had to appease those at Wayne Enterprises, please the wealthy upper circles, and charm the press; as Batman, he was free from such constrictions. 

When he took to the seedy Gotham streets in the night, he wasn’t shackled by the stifling social restraints he endured in the day. There was an entirely different etiquette to adhere to in Gotham’s underbelly and he excelled in it, reveled in it. Gotham’s criminal underworld was an ever-rotating empire built on blood, betrayal, and calculation; it was like a never-ending game of chess. 

He wanted to clean up the streets, but the city’s corruption could be traced back to its very roots. Between the mob and the gangs, the common thugs and his villains, he had to pick and choose his battles. The politicians were incompetent at best, mere puppets at worst, and the GCPD was infested with corruption. 

He could only do so much as Bruce Wayne; fund programs, donate to charities, back promising candidates, and even then, he was scrutinized and expected to explain himself. Being in Gotham’s spotlight was a good cover, for who would ever suspect air-headed billionaire Bruce Wayne of living a double life as a masked vigilante? But even so, he was surrounded by piranhas while among Gotham’s elite. Placid smiles, cold stares, and shallow receptions awaited him at every function and interview by the press, but at night, when he was Batman, was free to be his true self.

His shoulders slumped in relief as he approached the nondescript warehouse where a good number of his more notorious villains were holed up. Having staked out the building, Bruce concluded that, at least for the time being, nothing nefarious was in the works. His villains typically preferred to work alone, save for the occasional partner-up, and nothing indicated a team-up of such magnitude was in the making. 

A wave of dizziness swept over him and he braced himself against the grimy wall of the side alley. Closing his eyes, Bruce took a deep breath, the night’s frigid air filled his lungs and masked the putrid scent of rotting garbage and other questionable odors emanating from the alley. Sleep had eluded him for the past three days, insomnia was nothing new, but it was reckless of him to be out on the streets in such a state. What he was doing was nonsensical, he had a perfectly good Batcave with a perfectly good Alfred, but, for once, the solitude didn’t have its usual appeal. 

Bruce needed a sense of normalcy, absurd as the notion was considering his life, but it was true, and he could only find that among his villains. And as appalling as it was, he’d been impatiently waiting for at least one of them to orchestrate a heist or concoct some ridiculous convoluted scheme to take control of the city, or even commit a petty crime, but nothing happened. He was bored, beyond aggravated with the people he had to deal with as Bruce Wayne, and desperate enough for some normal interactions that he’d willingly endure some of the more ridiculous banter and one-liners his villains were particularly fond of. He could appreciate the Riddler’s puzzles and word games, as they often saved him from mind-numbing boredom when he had to swan around at galas and make insipid small talk.

Head pounding, he pressed on, slipping inside the warehouse without arousing any suspicion and invisible to any onlookers. Usually, his villains had their goons accompany them whenever they arranged to meet with each other. Bruce expected to find the place crawling with low level thugs, but there were maybe a handful of them in total acting as lookouts, and not very observant ones at that.

His musings were cut short when he heard it, that unmistakable, notorious laughter echoing down the hall. Well, that would save him time. As he approached the back room, it occurred to Bruce that he didn’t actually have a plan in mind. He’d memorized all the exits, his utility belt was well - equipped to provide him additional assistance should he require it, and his tracker was active (Alfred worried and he couldn’t not appease the man); but he was still deliberately walking into a room containing several of Gotham’s most dangerous criminals he wasn’t planning on apprehending. Still, that laughter drew him in as it always would.

The voices accompanying the Joker’s distinctive laugh became clearer. Harley Quinn was present, though that was no surprise, as was Poison Ivy, the Riddler, and Two-Face. He’d missed Harvey; the former attorney had once been Bruce’s best friend, but ever since he’d adopted his villainous moniker, well, they hadn’t seen each other, though not for lack of trying on Bruce’s part. Every visit to Arkham was declined and all of Two-Face’s schemes were kept far away from Wayne Manor. The man’s avoidance of him left Bruce feeling both helpless and hopeful. He supposed, on some level, Harvey was still there, unwilling to involve his old friend in his criminal lifestyle. Perhaps it was Harvey’s way of protecting him, well, protecting Bruce Wayne, that is.

His villains were seated around a table, playing cards and wads of bills were scattered across the dull wooden surface. Harley was sitting between Poison Ivy and the Joker, cuddled up against the former, while the Riddler and Two-Face were seated on the other side. The whole scene was bizarrely domestic and yet so normal he had to crack a smile.

“Ugh, would you play your hand already?” Joker groaned dramatically, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I’m thinking,” Two-face huffed, sending the clown prince of crime a glare before focusing back on his cards.

“Well, make up your mind. Hmm, or is it minds?” he muttered, offering an innocent grin when the man growled at him.

“Puddin’,” Harley sighed, shaking her head.

“What? I’m genuinely curious. C’mon Harl, you were once an accomplished quack – er, a psychiatrist, surely you’ve psychoanalyzed us at least once.”

“There’s still the matter of doctor-patient confidentiality,” Riddler politely chimed in, arranging and rearranging his cards. “And Miss Quinn wouldn’t violate that.”

“Aww, thanks, Eddie!” Harley squealed, leaning across the table to plant a kiss on the man’s cheek. “Mwah. You’re a doll.”

“Bah, he’s a suck up. And she only did that to get a look at your cards,” Joker sulked, his bright red lips pulled down into a comically pouty frown. “Where’s Pengy? The two of you are usually glue to one another. Boyfriend troubles?”

The Ridder’s sigh spoke of a man whose patience was waning but resigned to the company he chose.

“Oswald is busy tonight.”

“Ooh, that means they’re fighting,” Joker stage whispered.

“He’s working at the Iceberg Lounge.”

“Hmm, sounds like he’s putting work first, or at least that’s the excuse he’s using. When’s the last time you kids had a date night?”

“You’re offering dating advice?” Ivy laughed. “Wow.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie and Oswald are one of the most stable couples in Gotham.”

“Thank you, Pamela.”

“Of course,” she offered the Riddler a kind smile before smirking at the clown. 

“Oh, like that’s a big deal, it’s Gotham! Ugh and you’re the harpy who stole Harley from me,” he griped, before letting out a surprised yelp and clutching his shin.

“Now, Puddin’,” Harley tsked disapprovingly, “that’s not nice. What do we say?”

“Humph, whatever. You were still peeking at Eddie’s cards.”

“Hn, she didn’t, besides, Ivy’s got the winning hand,” Bruce commented, watching with concealed satisfaction as his villains jumped in surprise at his presence. They seemed baffled by his appearance and he genuinely wondered how they went about selecting their lookouts or if they just picked whatever thug came along looking to make a buck. 

An awkward silence followed his announcement, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. There were no cheezy one-liners or gimmicky weapons pointed at him accompanied by demands to know how he got in and what he planned to do to stop them.

“Batman,” Two-Face grunted, standing from his chair, causing its metal legs to skate across the cement floor with a sharp screech. “I don’t believe we’re breaking the law, presently,” he informed the masked vigilante while nonchalantly straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. Having known Harvey for so long, Bruce could read the man better than most; his body language indicated he was acting smug and self-assured, like he was winning a case, but wary of exactly how the situation would play out.

“You aren’t,” Bruce conceded. “Well, aside from breaking out of Arkham,” he added.

“Ah, Batsy! What a pleasant surprise,” Joker purred, trying to redirect Batman’s attention on him. “Can I deal you in?”

“I’ll pass. Is it stolen?” he inquired after a pause.

“Erm, not recently?”

“Bank heist? ATM robbery? Mugging?” he pressed.

Joker opened his mouth, no doubt to offer what he thought were charming platitudes and a clever one-liner before pausing and instead asked, “What schmuck would be carrying around fifty-grand in Gotham City?”

Bruce shrugged. “A rich schmuck?”

Joker’s vibrant green eyes widened, and he burst into laughter, “That was funny!” he gasped, delighted, before his face fell and a thoughtful frown overtook his features.

It shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was, but Bruce was too exhausted to bother worrying about it. The room began to spin, and he gestured to a ratty-looking couch facing an old television in the corner.

“Do you mind?” 

“Uh, sure, go ahead?” Joker offered a helpless shrug as the masked vigilante stumbled to the couch and sank down onto the cushions with an uncharacteristic sigh. Brows furrowed, Joker scrunched his face up, perplexed by Batman’s odd behavior; where were the demands in his gravelly voice? Where was the manhandling? He seemed so relaxed, at ease even! Sure, he’d asked about the money, but it was hardly an interrogation! Frankly, he was acting as if . . .

“Ivy, you harpy! What did you dose him with!” Joker demanded, whirling around and shaking a gloved finger at her. She raised an unimpressed brow in response to his yelling and laid her cards down with a flourish. 

“Read ‘em and weep, boys,” she smirked, before addressing the Joker. “Nothing.”

“Well, you must have,” he insisted, raking his fingers through his slicked-back green hair. “Why else would he – Scarecrow! Oh, this must be Johnny’s work!” he snapped his fingers.

“Nah,” Two-Face shook his head, “He’s still locked up.”

“Er – well, then, he’s delirious from . . .uh, the cold? Clearly Freeze is the culprit.” 

“No,” the Riddler sighed, staring at a newspaper. “Victor has been working with Oswald on a project.”

“Well, something’s obviously wrong with him.”

“I’m tired,” Batman muttered. “I’ve got insomnia, an adrenaline addiction, some severe childhood trauma, and day job that I loathe. By the way, you really need better lookouts.” Unfastening his cape, Bruce relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Harley?”

The harlequin perked up at being directly addressed.

“Yeah, Bats?”

“How’re Bud and Lou?”

“Oh! Oh, they’re doing much better!” she gushed, eyes shining as she clapped excitedly.

“Okay, what am I missing here?” Joker demanded. “How do you know the hyaenas? What happened?”

“Mistah J, a couple weeks ago a group of lousy thugs hurt my babies real bad! Well, Bud more than Lou, and Bats here, well,” she rubbed the back of her head, abashed, “he took ‘em to the vet and paid and everything!”

“You did?” he blinked, looking at Batman.

“Yes.”

Joker spun on his heel and leveled an incredulous look at Harley.

“They hurt your pets and lived?”

“Well, Bats here asked me not to kill them.”

“And you complied, just like that?” Ivy muttered.

“Of course! I mean, he did save my babies, sprung for their treatment too! And well, he only asked me not to kill them,” her painted lips stretched into a vicious grin, “So, I left that request up for creative interpretation.”

“And – and you just let that happen!?” Joker demanded, gaping at Batman. 

“She didn’t kill them.”

“We never left Arkham; they’ve pumped a cocktail of the latest experimental drugs into me and I’m hallucinating,” the clown prince of crime muttered. 

Bruce chuckled and relaxed back against the overstuffed cushions, ignoring the rips and questionable stains; the couch really was quite comfortable, plush and soft as opposed to the sleek and modernized furniture he was expected to lounge on.

“Ah, Batman, only you could render the Joker speechless,” Two-Face laughed.

“Indeed,” The Riddler agreed. “Oswald will be quite amused.”

“Oh, would you all shut up!” Joker snapped, rubbing his temples, “I’m trying to enjoy this bizarre, drug induced dream.”

“You can continue with your game,” Bruce assured them.

“Are you sure you don’t want Mistah J to deal you in?” Harley inquired. “We can teach you to play, it’s easy!” she enthusiastically offered.

“I’m sure. I’ve never had much luck and I’d just like to relax before work in the morning.”

“Long day at the office?” Two-Face laughed around a cigarette, surprised with the ease at which he accepted the Batman’s presence.

“Meetings with stockbrokers and board members, and lawyers who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to you, Harvey.”

“Ha! You want me to represent you, Batman?” he playfully sneered, searching his suit pockets for a lighter.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. I thought you were quitting?”

“What?”

“Smoking, I thought you were quitting,” he clarified.

“No! You said I – do we know each other?” the former attorney growled.

“Of course we do,” Bruce huffed, tugging off his gloves. “It’s been a while.”

“Well, I’m not exactly inconspicuous.”

“Well, half of you is,” the Joker commented, shuffling the playing cards as he flashed a wide grin.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Harvey muttered under his breath.

“Talking to ourselves, are we? Or does that actually count with you? Ooh, do you carry on conversations? Like –”

Bruce rolled his eyes as a minor squabble broke out and contacted Alfred.

“It’s good to finally hear from you, Sir,” his butler’s stern tone registered through his comms. “Especially since your tracker indicates you haven’t changed your location. Are you alright? Do you require extraction? A diversion? I can call the commissioner if-”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he assured the man who raised him.

“Truly?” Bruce rolled his eyes at the man’s tone; only Alfred Pennyworth could so eloquently express skepticism, judgment, and genuine concern in a single word. “Because in all my years of service, I’ve come to understand that “fine” does not in fact-”

“Alfred.”

“Very well, Sir,” the butler heaved a pointed sigh through the comms and Bruce tried to suppress the wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. And he wondered where Bruce got his theatrics from. “Do be safe.” The softly spoken request was met with a curt but sincere affirmation and he focused back on his villains.

Harley was seated on Ivy’s lap chatting away while the former botanist divided her attention between doting on the harlequin and counting the money she’d won so far. The Riddler was scribbling away on a scrap of paper, a delighted smile stretching across his face; the man was likely composing a sappy yet complex riddle for his husband or some villainous plans that would please Oswald.

The Joker and Two-Face were almost dancing around the room. At a glance, the former attorney looked spitting mad and ready to start swinging while the dapper clown was giggling. Upon closer inspection, their interaction was actually somewhat playful, violent, but more lighthearted than one would expect. 

Joker noticed his staring and skipped over to him. He perched on the overstuffed arm of the couch and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles from his purple suit.

“So, Batsy,” he began, sounding almost awkward, “what brings you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmm, could I interest you in some quality medication? It’s got Arkham’s stamp of approval, if that helps.”

“You’re offering me drugs?”

“Oh, like that’s the most criminal thing I’ve done today.”

“. . . I don’t wanna know.”

“Besides, it’s not like I’d drug you.”

“You wouldn’t?”

The Joker gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’d never!” he proclaimed with a surprising amount of sincerity and tinged with bitterness. “Well, not you, I wouldn’t drug you,” he amended.

“Hmm, not particularly sold on Arkham indorsed hallucinogenic experimental drugs, but thanks.”

“Oh – uh, you’re welcome?”

It was amusing to see the Joker so genuinely baffled, flustered even, by his nonchalance. 

“You couldn’t sleep, and so you came looking for me?” the Joker grinned, though his vivid green eyes glittered with delight.

“Yes, well, I was looking for at least one of my villains,” he affirmed.

“Here.”

They both looked up to see Two-Face offering him a glass of water.

“Oh, thank you,” Bruce nodded, before downing the water in one go.

“Oh, so you have no problem accepting something from Harvey, but you have reservations when it’s from me?” he sulked.

“Of course he does,” Two-Face snorted. “You’re a lunatic.”

“And I suppose someone with half a mind is a more trustworthy source?” Joker muttered glumly, folding his arms and pouting. “Or is it two minds? I can never tell.”

“Harvey was once the district attorney, he’s handled more than enough cases where someone put something in a person’s drink, he wouldn’t do that.”

The Joker gasped dramatically, clutching his chest, and batting his eyes at Batman.

“And you think I would?”

“. . . No, not directly at least, and not without your customary theatrics. Besides, I’m not in the habit of taking pills.”

“You want a prescription?” Harley innocently offered from across the room.

“No thank you.”

“Maybe you ought to consider it,” Ivy murmured.

“Oswald could procure them, discreetly, of course,” Riddler offered.

“That’s very considerate, though I’m not sure Alfred would approve.”

“Hm, Alfred, why does that name ring a bell?” Two-Face muttered, while the Joker mulishly demanded to know who Alfred was.

“It would, of course, come from a reputable source,” Riddler continued. 

“You’d have to convince Alfred of that,” Bruce informed him before turning his attention to the former lawyer. “Well, it should ring a bell, Harvey, the man made you more hangover cures than I can count.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I never considered how the attack may have effected your memory. You always declined to see me when I’d visit, so I just suspected it was a matter of pride; and, well, you’ve obviously been busy since then. Alfred does miss having you around though, and so do I,” he said.

Bruce sighed and rearranged himself, so he was stretched out on the couch. “Look, I know this isn’t how it usually goes, but I’m exhausted; I’ve got meetings scheduled all day tomorrow, and I would like to get at least some sleep before dealing with all of that.”

“Yeah, um, go right ahead,” The Joker hesitantly insisted, perplexed but not uneasy. He was still positive someone had dosed his Bat with something.

Bruce nodded gratefully before unceremoniously pulling back his cowl.

“What are you doing!?” the clown prince of crime shrilly demanded, staring at him aghast, before clapping his hands over his eyes.

“It’s uncomfortable to sleep with my cowl on,” he calmly explained.

“B-Bruce?” Harvey sputtered, staggering back and bracing himself on the table.

“Mr. Wayne,” Riddler muttered thoughtfully.

Harley blinked in shock at the abrupt reveal. “Whoa.”

“You can say that again,” Ivy murmured, echoing her girlfriend’s sentiments.

“I’ll head out at dawn,” Bruce assured them. “You can go back to your card game.” He buried his face in one of the throw pillows with a garish print and sighed.

“Uh, g’night, Bats,” Harley called out to him.

“Good night.”

Two-Face sat down heavily and stared at the couch uncomprehendingly. Batman was sleeping on that couch, Batman, who was secretly Bruce Wayne.

“Well, this isn’t how I pictured my evening going,” Riddler commented, dealing out the cards.

“I’ll say,” Ivy chuckled.

“No, nope, no, this isn’t happening,” the Joker sing-songed.

“Mistah J.”

The Joker shook his head and made a mournful noise. 

“Oh, shut up!” Harvey snapped, running his hands through his unkempt hair. “I just learned that my best friend is Batman,” he huffed.

“Oh, your best friend?” the clown sneered, “When’s the last time you two hung out, hmm? Minus the cape and coin?”

The former attorney leveled a harsh glare at him, fists curling into fists when Harley spoke up.

“We’re gonna have to make sure no one sees him like this.”

“Quite right,” the Riddler agreed. “I suppose we could start by dismissing our less than useful look-outs.”

“Oh, they’ll be dismissed alright,” The Joker grumbled, retrieving a gun from his suit jacket.

“Puddin’,” Harley huffed.

“What!? I’m making sure no one will see him.”

“Bats doesn’t like killing.”

“And Brucie hates guns,” Harvey croaked.

“Ooh yeah,” Harley nodded enthusiastically. “You know, it’s starting to make a lot of sense.”

“It is?” Joker muttered flatly.

“Course! It’s textbook really. A little kid witnessing something horrific and traumatizing, looking for justice in a city like Gotham, and the poor guy’s in the spotlight all the time. I’m kinda surprised he hasn’t snapped.”

“What! Of course he snapped!” Harvey sputtered, gesturing to the sleeping vigilante. “He dresses up like a bat and fights crime!”

“Well, yeah, but he doesn’t kill, he’s always watching out for people, and he always checks in on us at Arkham.”

“Probably to make sure we haven’t broken out!”

“Or to visit you,” she gently pointed out.

“I distinctly recall that Batsy visits each and every one of us,” Joker scoffed, petulantly crossing his arms.

“Oh, would you stop calling him that!”

“No! It’s my name for him, and besides, we share a special connection.”

“No, you don’t you lunatic.”

“Oh and you’re the expert on relationships are you? You weren’t even aware who your best friend was until he showed you.”

“Quiet down, boys,” Ivy said, flicking her eyes to the couch, “Bats is sleeping.”

“I think the more pressing question is why he revealed his identity to us,” the Riddler spoke up.

“That is a good question, Eddie,” the redhead murmured. “Bats is placing an awful lot of trust in us.”

“No one is turning him in,” Harvey growled.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Harley dear?”

“It could be dissociative identity disorder, but I’m not sure. But, he’s comfortable around us,” she surmised.

“But why?” Harvey stressed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Joker muttered, “it’s because we’re his villains. He’s one of us.”

“Bruce would clock you for saying something like that.”

“Well, me and Batsy do like to play rough,” the Joker grinned, his red lips stretching across his face.

“Ugh, stop, that’s my best friend you’re talking about,” Harvey grumbled. “Go get rid of those useless goons out there – without killing them, clown!”

“Ugh, why not!?”

“You would disappoint Batman if you killed them,” Riddler pointed out.

The Joker huffed and frowned but set his gun on the table and stomped out of the room before calling back, “Nobody better peak at my cards.”

“Oof, Christ.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Harvey, his secret’s safe with us, and Pengy.”

Two-Face glanced over at the Riddler who had the grace to look up from the paper he was scribbling on. 

“Harley is correct, of course.”

“You’re making a riddle for him, aren’t you?” Ivy smiled.

“Oh, just telling him wouldn’t be as fun, and Oswald does love any chance he has to show off how clever he is.”

“You two are sweet.”

“Thank you.”

Harvey shook his head in disbelief, what a night, and the morning would only bring more questions. Gaze flicking over to the couch, his brow furrowed in concern for his old friend. One thing was abundantly clear, Bruce was an idiot that needed looking after, and it was up to Harvey to provide it, especially with that psychotic clown’s idea of flirting.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I hope you guys like it! I can't promise when new chapters will be uploaded, I mostly just wanted an indulgent batman fic. Also not too sure where it's going, so if there's anything you guys would like to read, characters or scenarios, let me know! And thank you!


End file.
